


Rain

by JiM



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:59:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JiM/pseuds/JiM
Summary: A rainy Saturday and someone damp turns up on Skinner's doorstep





	Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Rain by JiM

Title: "Rain"  
Author: JiM  
Date: 5/99  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Summary: A rainy Saturday and someone damp turns up on Skinner's doorstep  
Desc: PWP  
Feedback:   
Note: For Kass, who wanted a Monday morning story.

* * *

"Rain"  
By JiM

It was raining. Hard. On any other day, Walter Skinner would have glared at the rain, suited up and soldiered through it to work. But it was Saturday and, although he had planned to go in to the office for no more than seven or eight hours, the rain had suddenly suggested something new to him.

He didn't have to go in.

As he assimilated that idea, he felt a curious lightening. It felt a lot like it had years ago, when he and Sharon had had the house and he had awakened to a rainy Saturday, jubilant in the knowledge that he couldn't go out and do yard work. Now, he had no wife and no yard, but the "school's out!" feeling was the same and he decided to go with it.

A low rumble of thunder growled approval as he padded into the kitchen and began to make himself the kind of huge cholesterol-laden breakfast his doctor had absolutely forbidden ten years ago. He even ground some of the namelessly expensive coffee he had in the freezer and made himself an entire pot of the rich brew.

Usually, empty weekend days made him nervous and he snapped to fill them with work, with repairs, with volunteer tasks for an infirm neighbor --anything to take him from the echoing order of his apartment. But today was different, with the rain sheeting against the windows and the lights in the living room making small golden pools in the encroaching storm gloom. He felt bemused, as if waiting for a mystery delayed.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and dished out his breakfast, grinning a little at how small his rebellions had become. Six pieces of bacon, three fried eggs, a pile of fried potatoes and more butter than toast on the stack.

There was a knock on the door. He growled deep in his throat, to the accompaniment of the storm. If it was another damned girl scout, he promised himself that he would add another item to his forbidden breakfast menu. But when he opened the door, prepared to stare down whoever or whatever lurked out there, he found himself staring too low.

He tracked back up the soaked figure until he met apologetic hazel eyes on level with his own. Rainwater slid down Fox Mulder's face, plastered his hair to his head, dripped from the end of his nose.

"You look like a drowning victim."

"Funny you should mention, sir," Mulder grinned and it seemed as if the sun had come out for just a moment.

"Mulder, what the hell are you doing on my doorstep at 8 o'clock on a Saturday morning?"

Mulder's eyes dropped for a moment and Skinner regretted his challenging tone. "Never mind, get in here before we both drown." There was another rumble of thunder, louder this time, and a flash of lightning. He grabbed Mulder's wrist and drew him inside, shutting out the storm.

"I was out running and the storm caught me by surprise," Mulder explained.

"You run out here?" Skinner had moved out to this quiet suburb a few months before because he felt that he was really a suburban creature. Mulder was strictly an urban fixture, though.

"I drive out to different places to run, sir, and this one seems nice and...." Mulder's voice trailed off and Skinner suddenly realized that he was still holding Mulder's wrist.

"Where's your car?" he asked, hurriedly dropping Mulder's arm. His hand tingled with odd regret and he wanted to take hold of Mulder again and chafe and rub that chilled skin until it blushed warm and rosy beneath his hands again...

Uh oh.

Mulder's eyes dropped and he said apologetically, "I locked my keys in the car."

"So you came here."

Mulder nodded, looking up to meet Skinner's gaze. Something wicked flashed in those eyes, so quickly that it might have been no more than a flash of lightning. Rain drops coursed fitfully down Mulder's face and Skinner suddenly shook himself.

"There's towels in the bathroom through there," he pointed. "I'll see if I can find something dry for you to wear."

Mulder smiled again, that hesitant, sweet smile that Skinner had only seen him turn on his partner before. It did odd things to his gut, he decided, leading the way toward the bathroom off his bedroom.

Not unpleasant, but ... odd.

Like this morning and his mood. Thunder crashed as he pawed through his bureau, looking for spare clothes to give Mulder. The younger agent was wearing nylon running shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt, both soaked. Hardly appropriate gear for an autumn day in Virginia. What was Mulder thinking? The weather reports had been predicting this line of storms for three days. It would likely rain and thunder for the entire weekend.

He found his favorite heavy sweatshirt - it had frayed at the collar and cuffs, but it was warm and the material had been washed so many times that it was nearly silken. Why not? It was the warmest he had and Mulder certainly looked chilled. There was a pair of gray sweats that he used at the gym -those would do. He brought them to the bathroom and knocked on the open door.

"Hmm?" Mulder's voice was muffled by the towel he was using to scrub at his soaked hair.

"Here's some fresh..." Skinner's voice trailed off.

Mulder had stripped off his wet gear and had wrapped a towel around his waist. It was the towel Skinner had used last night and left hanging on the rack. The rich crimson flowered against the younger man's pale skin. Stray water drops slipped down Mulder's chest and abdomen to soak into the towel. The unexpected jolt of intimacy stole his words and he didn't realize it until Mulder peered out from under the towel to say "Sir?"

Thunder crashed again and there was a flash of lightning that prowled around the edges of his shades and raced down the hallway and through all the rooms, searching for them. Skinner thrust the clothing at Mulder, saying quickly, "Here. Put these on and come into the kitchen. I've got some coffee on."

Mulder's thanks were muffled when Skinner pulled the door closed, shutting out the sight of a slick, cool Mulder in his bathroom, half-naked and smiling, reaching out...

When the hell had this happened, he wondered. He was used to not knowing much of his own internal motivations, but for something like this to slip by unnoticed bespoke self-deception of Olympic proportions.

He poured out two mugs of coffee, letting the rich vapors swirl up to heat his face. When he turned back, Mulder was sitting at the table, blithely nibbling a piece of bacon. HIS bacon.

"Hey!"

"Yes, sir?" Mulder asked innocently, licking the grease from the pad of his index finger.

Skinner swallowed, then was suddenly taken by the whole ludicrous situation. "That's MY breakfast you're stealing, Mulder."

The younger man's face fell comically. "Oh - I thought it was for me."

Skinner grabbed a second plate and a fork and set them on the table before handing Mulder his coffee. Shaking his head, Skinner scooped half the potatoes, three pieces of toast, and egg and three of the remaining strips of bacon onto his plate. Then he sat down across from Mulder and pointed to the plate. "THAT'S for you. Eat."

Smiling happily, Mulder proceeded to demolish half of his boss' breakfast with relish. Skinner ate more slowly, chewing stolidly and watching Mulder's graceful movements. The dark blue of the sweatshirt wasn't as flattering as the crimson toweling had been, he decided. But the lack was more than made up for when he considered the frayed edges brushing against the skin of Mulder's long throat. Remembering the feel of those edges against his own throat and knowing how gently the worn material caressed and whispered against him....

Well.

Apparently his self-deception had been gold medal standard. Another flash of lightning and a crash of thunder, a long sip of hot coffee and Skinner was ready to hand back the medal.

Mulder was beautiful. Mulder was insanely intelligent and honorable. Mulder had given him chance after chance to earn his trust and had finally been proven right. Mulder was sitting in his kitchen on a rainy Saturday morning, eating his breakfast and looking as if he wanted to be nowhere else. Mulder looked so right sitting there, wearing his clothes, hair curling damply behind his ears and over that broad forehead.

Skinner came back to himself, realizing that he was staring at Mulder, holding his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. The younger man speared the last potato and put it in his mouth, then laid his fork down and looked at Skinner expectantly.

"Mulder. Why did you come here this morning?"

Something flickered and shuttered in Mulder's gaze. "I told you, I was running and locked myself out of the car and ..."

"Mulder, I saw your keys in the pocket of your shorts. Why did you come here?" Praying he could trust Mulder with this truth, too.

Apparently, Mulder decided to risk it. He smiled slightly as the rain spit and hissed against the windows outside. "I got tired of running, Walter."

Braver than he, Mulder had always been braver than he.

Skinner nodded slowly, knowing now which mystery he had been waiting for this rainy morning. He reached out across the table and carefully took Mulder's wrist again. He chafed and rubbed at the cool skin, watching for it to respond to his touch. He couldn't look up and see the response in Mulder's eyes.

"Don't tell me this actually worked?" Mulder's delighted laughter lurked just below his words.

Skinner was profoundly grateful; Mulder would save him again from his own mute fears and uncertainties. "Yeah, Mulder, it worked." Finally, he could look up and meet the younger man's eyes.

Mulder was shaking his head in wonder. "Who knew you would fall for the stray cat routine?"

"You did," Skinner reminded him, thumb rubbing small circles on the soft skin of Mulder's inner wrist, now warm and settled in his hands.

"No," Mulder said gently. "I *hoped*."

And Skinner was grateful to him for exposing his fear; it made his own seem so much smaller.

"You know," he said casually, as he began stoking the soft webbing between Mulder's index and middle finger, "it's supposed to rain all weekend."

"You mean, I'm stuck here?" Mulder asked cheerfully, hand jerking a little in Skinner's as the older man drew one nail gently down his palm.

"Oh yeah, Mulder, You're stuck," Skinner said as the thunder shook the house. He stood and yanked gently on the hand he held. Mulder rose smoothly and simply stood there, waiting for him to make a move.

Skinner ran his thumb over Mulder's wrist again and realized the the skin was now warm and dry and rosy beneath his fingers. He wondered whether or not the skin of Mulder's chest could be stroked and caressed until it too, was warm and dry and flushed. There was only one way to find out...he started to grin as he gently pulled Mulder closer.

Firmly wrapping Mulder's arm around his own waist, he waited until the younger man had a solid grip before he raised his other hand to cup Mulder's rain-smooth jaw. He appreciated Mulder's planning, he had obviously shaved just before coming over here. He tipped Mulder's head just the right way and leaned in for a slow exploratory kiss.

Soft. Wet. Salty. Coffee and butter and bacon and Mulder and it was good, so good. The thunder was rolling through him now and his free hand snaked up under Mulder's, no, *his* sweatshirt to stroke that smooth chest. The skin beneath his fingers was cool and held just the faintest suggestion of autumn rain and he smiled into Mulder's mouth as he thought of how he planned to warm that up, too...

(Feedback appreciated at )


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